


Colonial Love

by YaminoTenshi202



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aversion to homosexuality, Derogatory Language, Homosexuality, Insults, Pseudo-Incest, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, dub-con, traces of Lima Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:16:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaminoTenshi202/pseuds/YaminoTenshi202
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time Period: Revolutionary War (1776-1783) <br/>Result: British victory</p>
<p>If England had won, what would he have done? Would he commit the same sins as Empires had in the past or would he try to start over, to be a better ruler over his beloved younger brother?</p>
<p>*This story was deleted from FF.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acknowledgement

**Author's Note:**

> For this chapter: Torture, Pseudo-Incest, Underage sex, THE PEAR

"The punishment for avarice is usually hanging; I’m being lenient with you, America." The Empire looked down at his colony.

America looked straight ahead, eyes glassy.

“ _I’m going to be independent from you, England! Please acknowledge it!”_

“ _I won’t allow it!” America was tackled to the ground, weapon thrown aside._

He held his stuffed rabbit close, his teen-aged arms looking almost too large for the rabbit to exist against.

America did nothing as the Empire began to strip him down, gently prying the stuffed toy from his grasp. He felt himself be pulled towards the wash-room, being guided into the wash basin where the warm water almost seemed to burn his skin.

"Should have never let that French son of a bitch near you…" England mumbled as he began to pour water over his colony, careful not to get any in his eyes. He could smell the French perfumes on him. America sat silently, not even reacting when England began to scrub the thirteen-year-old body. Recovery for a Nation sometimes meant regression in age. It was a good thing that America only regressed a few years. It was around this age that France had whispered the ideas of Revolution into the child’s ears. "I’m never going to let him near you or your brother again. You would die if you got in another war so soon."

America began to breath a bit more rapidly. War… Revolution… Congressional Hall… Washington.

"Washington?"

England looked at the other, perturbed. “The general of your militiamen? He will be hanged for his avarice, of course.”

"Please no. He’s nice to me. He fixed my bunny when it got torn up by Cornwallis." America looked at his Empire with a painful stare. Bunny… Innocence… Treasure… America… England.

England stared at the colony. “It is not in my hands, America. If I can, I could possibly give him a more honourable sentence but-“

"He loves my people."

England looked at the other, furious now. “ _Your_  people?”

"The colonial people!" America insisted. He felt England’s hand get closer to that spot between his legs. He tried to ignore it, but his body was getting warm. What?… Warmth… Nice… Pleasure… Sin.

England felt something twitch near his hand in the water. He looked down. “America, what is that?”

America’s cheeks flushed red. “I-I don’t know.”

"You don’t know? You wouldn’t; I never told you." A stroke to the hard organ.

"Ah!" America was so confused. Why was his body reacting this way? It felt so good.

England smirked. “You want your friend Washington to live?”

"Yes, I do, sir."

"Touch yourself."

America looked confusedly at the other. “Myself? Where?”

"Where I was just touching you. But in front of my King."

"In front of the King?"

England gently threaded his fingers through the wet blonde hair. “There was a ritual in which I could have bound you to me tighter as a colony. We will do that in front of his Highness. Do you understand?”

"Will it hurt?"

"Perhaps a little; But you are a tough colony, managing to wage war with me for almost seven years." A kiss to the forehead Alfred received. "If I weren’t angry, I would be proud."

Alfred looked down. “Can we save George?”

Arthur kissed his cheek. “Of course love.”

Alfred pulled his knees up to his chest as Arthur rinsed him off. “Does Arthur hate me now?”

Arthur smiled at his little brother. “Of course not, love.” He covered the other’s cheeks with kisses. “If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t try so hard to keep you with me, right?”

* * *

The next month, the king himself arrived in the British American colonies, crowds being pushed away from the path of the carriage.

In the city building of Philadelphia, King George the Third sat at the main table of the hall and began to address his people.

"We know of the distresses of the American colonists. As such, many of these were not addressed by the leaders in Parliament. Thus, I knew not of many of the troubles here in the American colonies. However, due to this, there shall be representatives from America in Parliament. Several of these appointments have already been announced."

Appointments? Alfred turned to Arthur, who sat in the chair that Alfred was sitting at the foot of. Arthur turned to him.

"Ar-England?"

"Yes, America?"

"Did you have a meeting with the King about this?"

"Yes. In fact, I actually talked to some of the colonists in Boston, the ones that you were acquainted with. Paul Revere, Thomas Paine, the whole lot. Apparently, many of the British troops were abusing you while I was away." England dropped his voice. "How so?"

America looked thoughtful. “They would call me many mean things and trip me. Sometimes they would hit me. I had some bruises sometimes.”

America couldn’t read England’s expression, but continued to listen.

"One such appointment has been given to colleague Benjamin Franklin, another to Captain John Paul Jones of the  _Bonhomme Richard_ , and another to John Adams.

"I regret that many of the abuses to this land were denied my understanding or acknowledgement. For that purpose, the American Colonies will now be the Autonomous British-American States. Trade shall be conducted through a central government in the States that will have to report to Great Britain every leap year through its Parliamentary representatives. All the colonists are British-American, or if their regional spirit should hold them to do so, they are American.

"I am the King for these Autonomous States. I shall maintain a more watchful eye on these States, lest there be any more need for bloodshed among our brothers. God bless the Empire and America."

The Congressional Hall burst out in cheers. The King answered any questions from newspapers, the most recognizable one for him being the Pennsylvania Gazette. America stood up with England. “I will take care of myself, England? I’m confused.” Arthur, having led him to a secluded room of the building, turned to his brother. “I’m taking care of you, little Alfie,” he said, messing with Nantucket and watching the other’s cheeks turn pink. “You will never leave me again, all right?”

"Yes, Arthur."

* * *

King George admired the boy in front of him. America had a collar around his neck, his chest was bare, and all that adorned his body as clothes were a pair of pants, socks, and a pair of shoes.

"I see why you never wanted him to leave, England." Arthur had hold of the leash that was connected to the collar. He yanked America forward so that his hands and knees made contact with the floor of the Congressional Hall. It was completely empty, as it was about the Witching Hour.

"Shall we begin, Your Majesty?" England asked, beginning to lead his thirteen-year-old brother up to the steps in front of the monarch.

America felt his heart pound. What was going on? Why was he crawling on the floor like this?

The monarch gestured to the colony with one finger. America complied, laying in the King’s lap just like Arthur had told him to; His legs were over the side of the armchair, his bottom resting on the King’s thighs.

"I’m sure England told you what to do, America," George said coyly, seeing what the colony would do.

America bit his lip. “I-I get punished for it right?”

England came over. “Only this one time, love.” He brushed away a stray tear. “Go on, love. Show your dedication, your devotion to your monarch, your ruler.”

America nodded and closed his eyes. He felt his cheeks burn as he snaked his hand under the hem of his pants and pulled down the pants and underwear enough so his penis was exposed.

George was intrigued. Arthur had told him America was beautiful, but the boy seemed to be so without trying. Very interesting…

America began to stroke himself, moaning softly. “My King…”

He opened his eyes and began to lay kisses on the King’s exposed throat. George was amused to say the least, until he felt heat travel down words as the kisses turn into licks and small, fragile bites that surely wouldn’t leave a mark but were arousing nonetheless.

England stood against the wall, watching his colony and brother pleasure his King. It was almost a pain to watch this, but after this, America would always be his. So many nations had lost colonies because they did not know of the ancient magic that was ahead of their kind, the magic that old Empires like Rome, Sumer, and Egypt knew. Sadly, all had been killed while warring with each other and due to the fact that they did not believe in this magic either.

America began to stroke himself faster, moving his hips more with his strokes. His moans grew louder and he knew that the dam of heat in his belly was going to burst soon; He just didn’t know when.

He cried out as he felt another hand on him, cold flesh and metal against his erection pulling him closer and farther away from completion.

"Little America," he heard the King whisper in his ear.

"America the Beautiful, you will surely make the Empire one that will be recognized for eternity."

With that, Alfred came on the monarch’s hand as well on his, white fluid coating the appendages liberally. He cried out the King’s name as he did so, watching his vision go white and then come down to reality.

England stood over him, licking away the white fluid from his King’s hand. America blushed a bit more. Had England always looked this… beautiful? Probably. Whenever Arthur had come over, Alfred’s heart would always beat a bit faster than normal.

England pulled America into his arms. “You know you will be punished for this, America. Homosexuals among us Nations are not always welcome, unless they have completed a penance.”

Yes, England had told America about this earlier in the day. America had been a bit frightened when told of the punishment (named after a fruit, but still frightening), but he would be brave.

"Yes, sir."

"Will you accept your punishment?"

"Yes, England."

The Empire smiled, turned to dismiss his King with a nod, and carried the colony to another room of the building. America nodded off with the gentle movement of his brother’s walking.

* * *

When America awoke, he pulled at his arms and legs. They were shackled. He felt bare wood on his back, his rear, and legs. He had been chained down to a table completely naked.

"Ar-Arfur?" He had slipped back to his younger days, when he couldn’t pronounce Arthur’s to save his life.

"You’re awake. Good; I thought I would have to do your torture while you were asleep."

"Arfur?" England appeared at the second plead. He wore a black-hooded cloak over his clothes. He had a sombre, but somewhat pleased expression on his face. He held a box in his hands.

"Are you ready for your punishment, Alfred?"

"Y-Yes… sir." America felt his legs be unchained and be bent at the knees and chained into that position. He saw Arthur pull something out of the box and was shown it.

"This, Alfred," Arthur explained, "is called the Pear. It is used to punish the blasphemers and liars, the promiscuous, and the homosexuals. You will be punished as the last one mentioned." Alfred shivered as he felt Arthur’s fingers touch the entrance to his anus, fingers brushing over it. "I’ll insert it here, all right?"

"Arfur… It won’t fit." The adolescent began to pant. It had sounded a bit easier when Arthur was telling him about it earlier, but it was so big. The Pear would be pushed into his anus and the screw at the end would make it spread out and…

"Alfred," Arthur urged, "we must complete the ritual." He stroked the other’s cheek with his free hand, the other searching for a bottle of lubricant to make the ritual a bit easier. Arthur knew that the boy would be less confident once he saw the device, its size especially. It was about three inches in diameter at the widest end and would get bigger once he turned the screw. "You will heal in a few days and I will be here for you, all right?" He peppered kisses all over the other, on his chest, legs. He felt the flesh begin to relax underneath his lips. "I’ll prepare you; that way it won’t be as painful."

Alfred nodded, hoping that after a few days he would be able to walk. He heard a bottle be uncapped and a faint splashing as some of the lubricant spilled. When the liquid touched his flesh, he tensed, but the kisses and strokes to his hips were back and he relaxed. One finger prodded at his sphincter muscles and gently wormed their way inside of him. It didn’t really hurt, but felt almost wrong, that something should not be coming inside of him. He almost spoke when he felt a bundle of nerves be brushed against, making him moan.

"Arthur!" Alfred wanted so desperately to push against the finger, but his legs and upper body were restrained. Arthur smirked; there was that special spot.

"Doesn’t that feel lovely, little brother?" Arthur licked his lips and moved to steal his little brother’s first kiss. Alfred opened his eyes when the other’s lips made contact, but he ignored it as flesh began to mould against flesh. A warm muscle asked permission from him to open his mouth and hesitantly Alfred complied. The kiss became more heated, distracting him as two more fingers slipped inside. Instead, the colony moaned wantonly, pulling his head away from Arthur’s when he couldn’t breathe. Kisses were all over his neck and chest, bites in some spots that would make sure a certain frog wouldn’t get to the colony. Two more fingers were slipped inside, sending slight pain up Alfred’s spine.

"Arthur, h-how many fingers…"

Arthur chuckled. “Alfred, you’ve taken my whole hand in.” For emphasis, the Empire curled his hand into a fist and began to thrust it deeper into his brother, wringing cries of pleasurable pain and tears of masochistic delight from the younger.

"Arthur! Please! More!" Alfred was shaking now, nothing but rice pudding in his older brother’s hands.

"Do you think you’re ready, Alfred?" Arthur quickly spilled some lubricant onto the torture device, making sure it was coated completely. He looked to Alfred, tears spilling out of the blue jewels that were his eyes. Alfred, wrinkling his nose like a little rabbit as Arthur pulled out his hand with a squelch, nodded weakly.

Arthur wiped off his hand of fluids and reached for the Pear.

The metal had been in its box, kept warm by a fire, but the metal had been starting to cool off. He quickly placed the Pear at the other’s entrance.

"Are you ready?" Arthur asked again, kissing his colony’s neck.

Alfred, a bit more sure of himself, nodded.

Alfred screamed as the cold metal made him tense and the metal shoved its way inside. Arthur ignored the outcries from the boy, continuing to push the Pear inside the tight passageway. He grit his teeth as he felt the last bit of the Pear slip inside. Alfred’s cries diminished, his body adjusting to the size of the object. He sniffled, tears coursing down his cheeks.

"Alfred…"

"Ar-fur… Hurts…" Alfred wanted to grab his brother, inhale the bitter-sweet smell of Black and Earl Grey Teas, eat the bland scones with jelly, wish that he had never thought of being independent in the first place.

"I know, Alfie…"Arthur cooed, placed his fingers on the screw. "Alfie, I need you to relax."

Alfred clenched his eyes shut, hearing the screw make a small squeak as it was turned. He whimpered as it began to spread his anus. Arthur’s fist had only been the size of the Pear when it was closed. How was he going to-!

Arthur closed his eyes as Alfred began to scream, his body being opened up to about five inches in diameter already. About an inch more and they would be done.

It was only harder when Alfred began to beg.

"Please, Arfur! Take it out! It’s stretching me too much! I’ll rip! Please!" If Arthur hadn’t chained down the younger, he would probably be beaten to death by the limbs that would most likely be flailing in pain. Just a bit more…

A particularly loud scream made Arthur open his eyes and look down at Alfred’s entrance. The boy had indeed torn, blood now trickling onto the table. He quickly turned the screw back to close the device, seeing that it had also reached the six inches that he had planned for.

Arthur quickly closed the device and pulled it out with care, not wanting his baby brother to hurt even more.

The chains were removed and Arthur gathered Alfred in his arms. “Alfred, hush, love. You did very well. You will never have to do that again. Shush…”

Alfred cuddled into the other’s clothes, inhaling Arthur’s essence. “Wi-Will I h-have to do a-anything else, Arfur?”

"One more thing, love," Arthur announced empathetically. He remembered when Rome did it to him, and the Italian had not been at all gentle like he was with his brother. The Empire grabbed another container, a healing salve that he had gotten in Asia. He lathered his fingers in the substance and gentle pushed his fingers into the loose entrance. Alfred’s fingers clenched, but he calmed as the cooling cream began to speed his already fast healing abilities as a Nation. It already seemed like he had stopped bleeding.

"Arthur," Alfred began. "Are… Are we going to…?" The unspoken question made Arthur smile.

"Yes, love, my baby brother," Arthur answered, sitting in between Alfred’s spread legs. "We are going to make love."

Alfred blushed. “Make love… It will feel nice?”

"Yes. I’ll be very careful." Arthur pulled down his trousers and underwear, releasing his penis from his confines. He emptied the bottle of lubricant on his rather large erection, hissing as the cold liquid hit his manhood. Spreading the lube, he quickly returned his attention to the colony.

Alfred smirked. “Are you ready, big brother?”

He was replied with a kiss, tongue and teeth clashing against each other, knowing that calling the other his older brother agitated him so. He did not notice the way that Arthur quickly slid inside of him until the other’s erection hit that special spot inside of his that made him see stars.

Arthur groaned at the heat. Somehow the boy was still tight; It was probably due to his healing abilities.

"Arthur… I’m ready." Alfred moaned as his brother began to rock back and forth, pulling his shaft in and out at a gradual pace. Soon, the heat built up and the two boys were grasping, groping at each other in desperate lust.

"Please, Arthur! Oh, God!"

A kiss. “Yes, Alfred! I am your God!”

"Yes! Deeper! Harder! Ah! Fuck!"

"Such a foul little mouth you have! Nnh! I’ll make sure to put it to good use later!"

"Please use me! Big brother, please!" Alfred couldn’t see straight. Maybe he needed glasses… He threw his head back, watching the world be thrown off of its axis. More stimulation was added when Arthur began to pump his prick.

"Alfred, are you close?"

"Yes! Yes! Arthur, faster! Ah! Arthur, I can’t!"

"I can’t either!"

Twin yells of ecstasy and the two fell against each other.

The colony and Empire would never be separated…

* * *

 

For interested people, [this is the Pear](http://www.medievality.com/pear-of-anguish.html).


	2. Yorktown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Yorktown - site of the last battle of the real War for Independence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dub-con, Pseudo-incest

Arthur moaned in the carriage. Any one else that could have been seeing him at all would only see a nobleman groaning with the pleasure of life and the pipe of tobacco gripped in his hand. No one would see the thirteen-year-old on his hands and knees, pert little mouth on the Empire’s erection.

"How much longer ‘till we-AH! get to Yorktown?"

"About half an hour’s time, sir. Are you all right?"

"Yes, man. Just focus on the ro-Oh!-ad. Wouldn’t do to make us crash."

"Yes, sir."

The first time that his little brother wanted to do this to him and it had to be in the carriage.

Arthur ground his teeth together as Alfred’s lips slipped from covering his teeth. “A-Al-fred, your teeth-” He whined deeply in his throat as the young teen pulled away.

"Did I hurt you Arthur?" The sky-blue eyes seemed to turn from perfect sapphires into inky pools as tears began to fill up the child’s eyes.

Arthur smiled down at the other. “No, but you must have tact.”

"Tact?"

England smirked. “I’ll show you,” he offered, putting his prick back into his trousers, not bothering to fasten them. “Sit down, love.”

Alfred, nervous and growing hotter by the second, sat opposite of where his brother was sitting before. Arthur went into the same position that his brother was previously in.

"You see, Alfred," Arthur began. "Making love and performing acts of love like this is art. It requires tact; knowing what to do and when to do it." He gently unfastened the other’s trousers, loving the pink pixie dust that settled over the child’s cheeks. He slowly coaxed the other’s erection out from his underwear, holding America back as he began to whine and attempt to thrust his hips forward.

"No, love. You have to be patient."

Alfred looked down at his big brother pleadingly. “B-But i-it feels…” He cried out, but muffled himself with his sleeve, as Arthur licked his erection languidly. The human driving the carriage didn’t know that the people he was driving to Yorktown were Personifications, nor did he know that they were lovers.

"Good boy." Arthur gave a kiss to the head, making Alfred whimper. The child began to bite his lip and pant softly through his nose. The Briton smiled; His brother was being quiet just like he had told him to. That deserved a reward.

Alfred almost thrust forward as the Briton sucked on the head of his erection. He whimpered and thought of when his brother never did things like this to him, when he didn’t love him like this… He thought of when he called his brother…

"Daddy." Arthur paused in his actions.

Alfred opened his eyes. Did he really just called his brother that?

"Arthur, I’m sorry-"

"Say that again."

Alfred blinked and stared at the other in confusion. He swallowed and allowed the word to slip from between his lips again. “D-Daddy.” He felt his body begin to convulse slightly as Arthur attacked his erection with strokes from his hand and tongue.

Arthur stopped again. “Don’t stop saying it.” He had felt so much heat rush down to his crotch when he had heard it the first time. Only his precious colony had ever called him that and no one else could. Just like only he could call Alfred  _ **his**_  lover.

"Daddy, more please!" Alfred begged breathily. Arthur hummed and complied. He wanted to be inside of the other. Right. Now.

Alfred threw his head back in frustration as Arthur detached himself from his prick, but eagerly pulled his pants down further as he saw Arthur grabbing some lotion from one of his bags.

Arthur chuckled as he saw Alfred attempting to take off his pants completely. “We don’t have enough room to do it the usual way, love.” He helped the boy lay down on the carriage seat and pushed his legs so that Alfred’s thighs were against his torso and his knees were against his shoulders. Alfred whined slightly at the lack of comfort, but he thrust it from his mind as Arthur kissed him, lips clashing in the instinctual dance and lust for his master. He closed his eyes as he felt lotion-slick fingers begin to prod for his entrance, searching and succeeding.

Arthur chuckled as the boy beneath him moaned for his touch. “Daddy…” the teen whined.

"Yes, my Alfred," Arthur mused. "What do you want from Daddy?"

"I want Daddy to be inside of me." Alfred tried to spread his legs as far as they could while restrained by his trousers. The lotion, he could feel, was slathered in a generous coat in his anus, and his whole body shook in excitement.

Arthur sat on his right leg, his left hanging off the side of the seat with the foot planted down on the floor of the carriage for leverage. Grabbing the colony’s hips in one hand, he pushed into the tight warmth.

* * *

The carriage driver, Thomas, held tightly to the reins, trying to keep from jumping into the roadside Virginian bushes.

The younger brother was quite adorable, almost like a woman with hips that had not lost their curviness, a cherubic face, and a lithe, sleek body. What would it be like to touch his cheek, his hair, his ass…

The noises coming from the carriage did not help his situation at all.

* * *

Alfred’s eyes were glazed over with pleasure and fatigue. His head lay in Arthur’s lap as his brother gently wiped the sweat from his face.

"We are arriving in Yorktown, sir," called the carriage driver.

Arthur looked up from his task. He and Alfred looked presentable; that’s what mattered. “Thank you. Take us to the Courthouse.”

"Yes, Lord Kirkland." Thomas couldn’t imagine how the lord could speak so calmly after… doing the deed with his charge. Perhaps all Englishmen were that way?

"Arthur, what are we going to the courthouse for?"

"To see your friend Washington."

Alfred sat up, a gleeful smile on his face. “George? He’s all right?” He wrapped his arms around his older brother. “Thank you for sparing him, Arthur! Thank you!”

Arthur frowned. “I almost think that you care more for him than me.” Insecurity was familiar to the Empire, yes, but he usually didn’t express it so. It was weakness, Scotland had told him, to reveal insecurity. Your enemy would grab it, wrap it around himself like a glamour that the fae used, and lure him in, seduce him… Perhaps that’s what Alfred had done to him.

Alfred giggled, his voice like little bells. “Never! He just helped me a lot when I was hurt during the War and he always tried to keep me safe.” Alfred blushed a bit. “He reminded me of you, but I still always wanted to see you more than any one or any thing else.”

Arthur stared at the boy in his lap. So innocent, loving, beautiful… He laid a kiss to the forehead of the child. His America…

Alfred smiled. Arthur’s lips felt like flower petals on his skin. So elegant, poised, lovely…

The Personifications felt the carriage stop and they separated, sitting across from each other. The door opened as Thomas held the handle and pulled it open to allow the Englishman and his brother out.

Arthur stepped out and did not see Thomas grab Alfred gently by the hand and help the child down.

"Thank you, Mister Thomas!" Thomas was taken aback by the kindness that the younger male showed. People of his station were rarely shown such respect.

He watched as Alfred bounced away after Arthur into the courthouse.

"Boy! Are you the carriage driver for Lord Kirkland and his charge?" Thomas turned to see a British officer. Ignore that thought, it was a general.

General Cornwallis.

"Yes, General."

The general smirked. “When will they leave the courthouse?”

Thomas blinked thoughtfully. “Master Alfred said he would be out to purchase some vittles for himself and Lord Kirkland around 10:00 this morning.”

The church bells rang for a 9:00 mass.

"Lord Kirkland will stay?"

"Yes, sir. Why?"

The general smiled. “Tell him to come to the military base just outside of Yorktown. By the pub.”


	3. Amazement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture, Pseudo-Incest, Non-con/rape, Homosexual + Racial Derogatory Terms/Behaviour, Angst

Alfred skipped out of the courthouse in search of food. His stomach almost growled during the meeting; Arthur would have been disappointed in him.

* * *

Thomas swallowed. It was a bad idea, but…

“ _You’ll have fun, and he trusts you.”_

Not after this he wouldn’t.

* * *

Alfred sat down outside of the courthouse, gently nibbling on biscuits and drinking a bit of water from a canteen. He loved the sweetness melting in his mouth, on his tongue.

"Sir." Alfred looked up and saw the coach driver, Thomas. He stood up and smiled at the slightly older male - physically, any way.

"Hello!" Thomas nearly melted under that beaming smile. Perhaps…

"Sir, someone, a general, wanted to see you." The way the boy’s eyes lit up with hope made the man almost regret his decision. Almost.

"Is it Washington?" Alfred asked. "Arthur said I might be able to meet him here. Is Mr. Washington here?"

_Mr. Washington?_  Thomas didn’t know that Alfred was on such a good relation with the man. He gently outstretched his hand and felt his body heat up when the baby soft hand wrapped around his.

The two walked so calmly. As though nothing was wrong. As though the pub was safe.

The whiskey glasses were candy. The chloroform was a sugar haze, lined with warm pipe tobacco. Alfred’s fear was happiness, surprise. Thomas’s guilt was a secret of joy, expectation.

If only it were so that the general was Peter Pan to create sweet flying dreams.

As if.

* * *

Alfred whimpered as he awoke in pain on a wooden table. He looked to his left leg to see a wooden stake embedded in it deeply.

"Well." Alfred turned to his left as much as he could. His grogginess didn’t make him fully aware of the ropes around his arms, binding them to his torso.

"Colon’l Cornwalls," the teen slurred. The older man, indeed Colonel Cornwallis, smirked, superiority somehow exemplified by the expression and uniform. Cornwallis walked to the personification and, lifting his leather boot, stamped down on the stake, driving it deeper into the muscle of Alfred’s leg. He could feel the stake under his foot scrape against the femur… It excited him, especially when he heard Alfred start to cry.

"You nearly ruined me. You and Washington." He stomped his foot again, enjoying the boy’s yell. It sent heat through his entire body.

"The same for me." Alfred turned to the right and saw a general. America’s brother came to his mind. Canada…

"Ben’dict." Alfred’s tears starting flowing faster. Benedict Arnold had been a fantastic general. His people, and America himself, had loved the man, until he had betrayed them to the British in Canada.

It didn’t really matter now, now that Arthur and the Empire were taking care of Alfred and the Colonies respectively, but it still hurt, that bile of sick betrayal burning Alfred’s stomach.

He screamed as another weapon made its way into his flesh, a brilliant knife. Alfred opened one eye and saw that Benedict was twisting the knife, tearing up the flesh all around. Why… why…

"Please. Stop…" Alfred just screamed again as both weapons were twisted even more. He could feel them against his bones.

"You know what, sir?" Benedict asked looking to Cornwallis.

"Yes?"

"I think that Alfred believes he deserves to have another punishment."

Alfred shook his head. “No, no, please! I’ll do anything!”

Benedict smiled. “Anything?”

"Yes, just stop hurting me. Please!" Alfred didn’t expect lips to be smashed into his own, a curious tongue seeking entrance. He gasped in shock and anxiety, sounding out protests as the once-shamed general’s tongue surveyed his mouth, assaulted his tongue, and almost made him choke.

As the other’s mouth moved away from his own, Alfred gasped for breath but was cut off as Cornwallis began to repeat the brutal kissing. Alfred struggled, his legs disabled, but his torso could move away from the older man.

Cornwallis pulled away and, scowling, he struck the Personification across the face. “You will obey us! A colony is only meant for being used.” He grabbed Alfred’s hair and, pulling his head back, bit into the delicious, pale neck. “The Empire and its people will do whatever they want to you, you filthy whore.”

Alfred felt Benedict sit behind him, reaching down and yanking out the stake and knife in his left and right legs, respectively. He yelled out, wanting this all to be a dream. A bad dream he could wake up from.

"I consider myself to be American, Alfred," Benedict whispered into the child’s ear. "I love you so much; Don’t you want me to show my love for you?"

Alfred felt tears spill from his eyes. Hate, love, lust, caring… He was so confused.

"Thank you, lad, for coming. You want to play with Alfred as well, don’t you?" Alfred looked up to see who had been addressed. There was Thomas, the coach driver.

"Please… not you." Alfred whimpered. After the war, he had lost so many friends. He couldn’t lose a new one, too…

The young man came over, gently cupping one of Alfred’s cheeks. He leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips against the boy’s, feeling that softness send heat right to his groin.

"Well, lad," Cornwallis said, "show Alfred how much of a whore he is."

Whore? No, he wouldn’t use that word to describe Alfred… but then how could one explain him consensually having sex with Lord Kirkland?

"No, p-please! M-Mister Thomas!" Alfred cried out for help, mercy, as Benedict pushed him down, taking his wrists and tying them so that they were above his head and each arm was connected by a cord to a different table leg. He began to pull the boy’s trousers and underwear down so that they hung on one ankle.

"You know you want to do this, America." Cornwallis sneered, tossing lubrication to Thomas, who pulled down his trousers and stroked himself to hardness. "All of those immigrants, coming into your country. Even during the war, you had so much help from foreign powers. Who did you fuck? France? Spain? Prussia? Poland? Lithuania? Russia? All of them? Have you no shame?"

"I didn’t! I didn’t have sex with any of them!" Alfred protested, trying to focus his mind away from the pain of Benedict Arnold’s actions of spreading his legs and tying them so that his feet were flat against the oak wood and his legs bent at the knee.

"Alfred… America," Thomas began, climbing onto the table between the young adolescent’s legs. "I fought in the war. Nothing was won. Was it for attention?"

Tears flowed down the blood-sprayed alabaster cheeks. “No…”

"Why, then? Nothing was won. You are still England’s, Lord Kirkland’s, property," Thomas said, his voice cracking. "And my brother was lost."

With that, he pushed into that tight heat, ignoring the scream and the blood that began to decorate his engorged phallus. Thomas began to thrust, hunched over Alfred and feeling the body tremble beneath and around him.

"You’re so beautiful, America!" Thomas groaned out, passion and rage making bedfellows and making him confess his thoughts of the corsage that he had seen, his brother’s. "So beautiful that it caused a war, like Helen of Troy! That war took away everything from me!" He thrust harder.

This smiling face.

Those blue eyes.

That innocence.

This person, this demon, took that innocence away from him.

He would take his.

"I’m sorry!" Alfred apologized. He cried.

_God! Please! I’m sorry for di_ _sobeying my Master, my Arthur!_ Alfred moaned and was broken from praying when a thrust to his prostate awoke his penis from being stagnant and began to grow erect.

Thomas kept aiming for that spot. He would humiliate this demon. A demon child that had taken everything from him. This incubus that had tempted him. This cambion that made him bend to its will.

Alfred threw his head back. The pain had dulled away and the thrusting began to feel… So… Good…

"A-Ar-fur…" the teen slurred. Arthur’s face flashed in his mind, like a beacon. Arthur was the only one that could ever make him feel like this. Arthur always felt so good inside of him. Thoughts of Arthur made this so much more bearable.

Skin against skin, the slapping filled the room. Cornwallis and Benedict stood on either side of the table, becoming aroused by this scene. America was humiliated by one of his own people.

"Victory for the British Empire."

Alfred felt that dam breaking. No! Only Arthur… Arthur-

“ _Alfred, are you close?”_

He screamed his release, tears pouring from the organic sapphires that were his eyes and semen spraying from his cock onto his torso and Thomas’ as well. The older boy came, groaning and filling Alfred’s anus with hot, sticky cum.

Thomas pulled out. He wiped off his torso with a hand-towel, put himself back into his trousers, and pulled a fiver from his pocket. “Not even worth tuppence.” He handed the money to Cornwallis.

The general walked over to the little nation, who shivered in the afterglow, and put the money in the boy’s pocket in the trousers that hung from America’s ankle. “See? You can’t even perform a prostitute’s job correctly. Arthur must be sick to even look at you.”

"No…" But Alfred wasn’t so sure any more…

He couldn’t even feel it as Benedict Arnold, his war hero, and Cornwallis, Arthur’s war hero, took their turns with him.

Where was that line?

The line between love and hate?

Lust and disgust?

"Let’s keep this a secret, little one."

He went into unconsciousness.

Captain Hook took him sailing. He was given a deep massage from the mermaids.

He felt himself being dropped off at the Lost Boys’ hideout.

The shadows attacked him.

_Please come back from Never Land._

Suddenly, Peter Pan saved him.

And everything was fine.

* * *

Arthur had been wandering around the small town, Yorktown. He had been looking for his brother since noon, when the meeting had been let out. He had not seen him since nine this morning.

"Alfred!" He called.

He called, but no answer from his brother, lover.

He went back to the inn in which they were to be staying.

He certainly did not expect to see Alfred, bloody and tossing in his sleep, like he was having a nightmare.

He grabbed at the child, calling his name. Alfred had tears pouring down his cheeks.

"Please, Alfred. Wake up." Arthur could feel bruises beginning to form from where Alfred would accidentally hit him. He thought of the flights of fancy that he told Alfred when he was very small. "Please, love. Please come back from Never Land."

Alfred stopped moving so dramatically. Soon he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Arthur cradled the boy close to his chest. He did not know what had happened or why Alfred was so frightened of everything right now. However, he did know one thing.

Who ever touched Alfred will die.

* * *

Alfred’s eyelids fluttered open. He felt the object underneath him, a mattress, possibly, move underneath his weight as he shifted his body. His legs burned.

"Alfred."

The young colony looked up and saw Arthur standing in the doorway with tea on a silver tray. Two tea cups with little flowers etched on the sides were filled with English Breakfast tea and balanced on matching saucers. Two containers, a little jug of cream and a bowl of sugar with its own spoon, shared the area where the tea pot sat. Little wafers sat on a side plate, next to a small dab of butter and a small bowl of fruit preserves.

The older boy walked over, his eighteen-year-old body seemingly graceful in its steps.

Alfred was so frightened. Did Arthur really hate him?

"You must be feeling a bit esurient, Alfred." He set the tray down on a night table. He picked up the spoon in the sugar bowl and put four lumps of sugar into Alfred’s cup, stirring the sweet to dissolve it.

Arthur handed the cup to Alfred, whose hands shook as he took the cup. Arthur stared at the other for a few moments. Alfred seemed like a lost lamb and was afraid of being eaten by a large wolf.

"Alfred, are you all right?" The boy sipped a bit of tea and sat quietly, his eyes clouded.

"Love?" Arthur placed his hand on the other’s knee, feeling the smooth fabric over said part of anatomy tense in like with the skin and muscle beneath it.

"Y-Yes?"

Arthur frowned. Alfred was never scared of him. Never.

"Alfred?" He cupped the porcelain cheek, feeling the trembling of the smooth skin from the muscle tremors. Why was he so frightened? "Love? What’s wrong? Why are you so scared?"

"I-I’m not." Alfred wanted to cry once his brother’s hand touched his cheek.  _Let’s keep this a secret, little one._ That sentence. That one sentence. It could let Arthur think that he was still purely his, that he never let any other man inside of him. That his body only belonged to him.

But it didn’t, did it?

He looked over to the night table. His eyes widened.

Five pounds.

Arthur looked to where the boy looked. There were five pounds.

"Yes, I found those five quid in your pocket." Arthur looked back to Alfred. His face looked like powder.

"Alfred?"

Alfred’s eyes were closed. He was shaking harder than before. His breathing was faster, only slightly. If Arthur had not known better…

No.

"Alfred? Did someone touch you?"

America opened his eyes.  _Let’s keep this a secret._  “N-No.”

Arthur was flabbergasted. If someone hurt Alfred, why would he…? “Alfred.

“ _Did someone touch you_?”

A shake of the head in negative.

Arthur sighed. He dragged his right hand towards Alfred’s left, interlacing their fingers tightly.

"Did you let someone touch you?"

Alfred’s head shot up. “NO!”

Arthur almost glared at the boy. “Then what happened! You are scared of me touching you! You are shaking right now, America! What am I supposed to think?” He launched himself at the other.

Alfred felt his mind go blank. -

He pushed at the other, absolutely no seeing that it was his brother, his lover, kissing him.

He could only feel those lips against his.

Full, cold, dry, warm, hot, burning, burning, branding, searing, painful-

Arthur pulled away, not expecting those hands, those small smooth hands, to push him away. He growled. He had been feeling lustful all during that meeting.

He reached for the boy’s wrist. Alfred was panting, tears spilling from his eyes.

"I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t punish me! Stop punishing me!"

Arthur growled. This was the only way. The only way to get his brother to talk.

To scare him. He could feel bile in the back of his throat. Thank the Lord he could act.

"Say my name, Alfred! Now! Beg for mercy from me!"

"Colonel! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Have pity on me please!"

A colonel? Probably British, considering how they treated Alfred before the war… “My full name, Alfred!”

HurtHurtHurtHurt

“ _My full name, Alfred!”_

"Colonel Cornwallis!"

…

Arthur pulled away. Cornwallis? Did he still hold animosity towards America?

It was possible, but…

No, he couldn’t have!

His own general? The British soldiers were hard on America, but…

There were no buts, were there?

He looked at the colony. Alfred had pulled inwards, attempting to disappear into nothing. He was shaking like a leaf in a storm. How one foreign goddess must have felt, Demeter, when Poseidon chased her, gave her gifts, chased her, caught her…

Raped her.

"Alfred. Did Cornwallis rape you?"

Alfred stopped. Did Cornwallis rape him? Thomas… Mister Thomas paid for him. Was that rape? Benedict had been incredibly gentle. He couldn’t deny that that had felt nice. Arthur had been on his mind the entire time. He kept imagining that those hands, all six of them, three pairs, were those of a British nation, England, the United Kingdom of Great Britain, the strongest nation in the world-

"I… I don’t know." Alfred bit his lip. How stupid could he be? Arthur would probably say that he was a slut, like Cornwallis said.

Arthur stared at the child. He didn’t know?…

…

“ _Scotland, why are you touching there?”_

“ _None of your business.”_

“ _But… it hurts.”_

“ _It’ll feel good soon.”_

“ _Scot-land!”_

“ _You’re a little harlot, aren’t you, Albion?”_

“ _No! Alba! I’m no- Oh!”_

“ _Says you; contrarily to your body”_

“ _Sh-Shut up!”_

…

He hadn’t known either.

"It’s all right."

America tensed, but slowly returned the hug that England gave him.

"Really?"

"… My brother… He hurt me the same way Cornwallis hurt you…"

Alfred felt shocked. “Y-Your brother? Is… Is that why you didn’t want me to call you ‘big brother’ before, when I was little?”

Arthur pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. “I want to protect you. I’ll protect you with everything I have. I love you, America. You are all I want.” He, hesitantly, pressed his lips against America’s.

America shivered. The nightmares went away for now. Smooth muscle pressed against his. It felt so nice… like being loved…

He pressed back anxiously. What if he got scared again?

Neither of them moved. Just pressed their mouths together in earnest love and trust. Saying “Are you okay?” and “I’m scared, but don’t worry” with the rose petals that were their lips.

Arthur didn’t want to move. He did not want to scare Alfred. The first time that Scotland had hurt him… He did not want anyone else to ever be near him that way.

Then he saw the little boy in the fields, with a Puritan baptismal gown and a rabbit in his arms.

Those sky blue eyes…

He wanted to keep them safe.

England was tainting America, wasn’t he?

A brother… should not love a brother this way…

He pulled away and did not expect Alfred to follow him.

A small whine came from the colony, pixie dust powdering the skin of his cheeks, those cheeks slightly full with baby fat.

"Why did you stop, England?" Alfred tilted his head, like a kitten.

"I shouldn’t love you like this, the way my brother hurt me." Arthur attempted to stand up, pulling away. Alfred grabbed his sleeve.

"But you aren’t hurting me. I’m not biologically your brother either. I’m adopted, right?"

Arthur closed his eyes. “Alfred, you are my brother, heart and soul. I can’t hurt you, taint you any more than I have already.”

Alfred pulled him closely, burying his face in his neck. “Please. I love you, Arthur. I really do.” He kissed that pale milky skin. Arthur’s skin shivered, his breath becoming shaky and desperate.

Arthur brought the teen closer to him. The tongue that came out to lick at him began to burn his skin. “Oh, God…”

"Mmm… Arthur…" Kisses were given to the top of Alfred’s head and the lips travelled downwards. The two pairs of lips began to dance against each other and, gradually, tongues began to dance around each other.

Arthur let the colony enjoy himself and mapped out the other’s hot mouth. He was loved… He was worthy of being loved, no matter what Scotland had said.

Alfred felt Arthur relax, the tense muscles becoming lax and the Englishman beginning to dominate the kisses. Alfred loved being loved and he loved Arthur…

God, he loved him no matter what any one said.

* * *

"Ah!"

Alfred panted heavily, the sphincter muscles in his anus tightening. The phallus inside of him was so hot, so big, so good… but his mind had drifted to what had happened earlier.

"Alfred…" Arthur closed his eyes, trying not to move in that tight entrance. If Alfred wanted to stop, he would, but… Lord…

"I-I’m fine." Alfred answered the unspoken, his voice shaking. Those evil people that had hurt him were not here. It was just the warm bedsheets that reminded him of home in Shenandoah Valley. The softness where England had found him… Yes… Home…

"HAH!" Alfred gasped loudly as Arthur flipped the two of them over, Arthur now on his back and Alfred being fully lowered onto Arthur’s erection, filling him and warming him up. "Arthur!" It felt so nice.

Arthur shuddered. “Th-This way, you can move on your own. Like riding a horse, as fast as you want.” Arthur blushed brilliantly at his own words. What a perverted ambassador he was…

"Umm… Okay…" Alfred moved his hips a bit, not feeling any pain at all. He breathed deeply, just trying to remain relaxed, not focusing on what happened before. Just loving the feeling of Arthur inside of him.

Alfred trembled and, placing his hands on either side of Arthur’s torso, by his hips, lifted his body up. As he brought his hips back down, the friction sent pleasure up his spine, making him whimper.

A particularly hard thrust upwards from Arthur sent Alfred into that white heaven that exploded behind his eyelids. He screamed his release, his cum spraying onto Arthur’s stomach and some on Alfred’s as well.

The tightening of Alfred’s entrance sent Arthur over the edge as well, filling up that tight cavity with his progeny.

The two lay together for a few minutes.

"That… was…" Alfred whispered, panting.

"Amazing." Arthur captured those pert lips, wondering how he was going to kill the mother fuckers that made those blue eyes cry.

He looked out at the November sky… This would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline and Historical Notes:
> 
> It is November 19th now, one month after the end of the seige of Yorktown (October 19, 1781).
> 
> Colonel Charles Cornwallis - At this point, he is age 42. Charles Cornwallis, 1st Marquess Cornwallis KG (31 December 1738 – 5 October 1805), styled Viscount Brome between 1753 and 1762 and known as The Earl Cornwallis between 1762 and 1792, was a British Army officer and colonial administrator. In the United States and the United Kingdom he is best remembered as one of the leading British generals in the American War of Independence. His surrender in 1781 to a combined American and French force at the Siege of Yorktown ended significant hostilities in North America. He also served as a civil and military governor in Ireland and India; in both places he brought about significant changes, including the Act of Union in Ireland and the Cornwallis Code, including the Permanent Settlement, in India.
> 
> General Benedict Arnold - He is 40 on this date. Benedict Arnold V (January 14, 1741 [O.S. January 3, 1740][1][2] – June 14, 1801) was a general during the American Revolutionary War. He began the war in the Continental Army but later defected to the British Army. While a general on the American side, he obtained command of the fort at West Point, New York, and plotted to surrender it to the British forces. After the plot was exposed in September 1780, he was commissioned into the British Army as a brigadier general.
> 
> An incubus is a male sex-demon, supposedly going around seducing women, though men can also be seduced by it. A cambion is the offspring of an incubus or succubus, the female counterpart to the incubus. A cambion is said to be able to manipulate humans to their every desire.
> 
> A fiver is a five-pound note. Tuppence is two cents.


	4. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess? It's a flashback chapter :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture, Incest, Probably not well-written, Derogatory Terms/Behaviour (few), (Mind) RAPE!, Psychological WTF-ness, ALBA (SCOTLAND), Certain historical figures that everyone was waiting for

England gazed down at his younger brother, watch the child’s chest go up and down slightly with his breathing. How cute, human… It was funny how the world spun for him.

Today was November 20th, 1781. He was the strongest empire in the world, his colonies were safe from “revolution”, and America was his lover.

It made him wonder how someone could have dared to touch his brother, his America.

Just like Alba…

* * *

England, then Albion, sat in the fields of Comeu, playing with the small rabbits that were about. His people were currently fighting with each other again, as the borders of his land were still blurry.

It was 896. Ælfred was his king… He liked that name, and he liked King Ælfred very much, as the two of them could see the faeries and speak with them about many things.

"Albion!" The little Nation turned and saw one of the older Nations that inhabited the island… He knew his name…

"Alba!" He ran to the other, Alba tall and strong compared to his small toddler body.

“Halò.” Alba greeted the child. “Ciamar a tha thu?” (How are you?) He ruffled the child’s hair. His body felt hot and the golden hair against his fingers felt nice… Soft.

“I’m fine, Alba! Why are you in Comeu?” Not many other Representations came to see little Albion, so he wondered… Did he have something to do with the new walls that people were building. “Borders”?

“Are your people building ‘borders,’ Alba?” Albion asked. “My king, King Ælfred, is very nice and strong. He says that ‘borders’ should keep me safe from other mean countries, like Denmark.” He looked down. “I wish I was stronger, so I could help keep my country safe.”

Alba looked down at the child. So small, so optimistic…

Can’t have that now, can we?

“Albion. You know that we, as countries, can help expand our borders and make them stronger by helping each other in a special way?” Alba smiled as the child looked up at him with praise.

“Really? How, Alba?”

Alba brought Albion to a small barn, owned by one of the barons of his house. He laid little Albion on the hay and told the child to strip.

“Why? Is it a Natural magic?” Albion sat, gazing at the teen, who had begun to take off his cloak and boots.

“Tha.” He affirmed, nodding his head. He knelt down and untied the cords of Albion’s cloak and began to lift off the toddler’s gown. Albion struggled, but began to wiggle out of his gown and then removed his small pair of underwear that hugged his vital regions.

Albion shivered in his nudity, watching as Alba took off his shirt and got down on his knees to meet him. He shivered again, trembling, as Alba touched his lips with his own.

“Alba?” He felt his body freeze, become full of anxiety, as Alba laid him down. “Alba, what are you do- Ha!” He couldn’t breathe with his brother’s tongue in his mouth.

Alba began to make his way down that little body, his tongue, lips and teeth marking the territory beneath him. All the little tribes that were surely quarrelling over basic sources, like the rivers and open fields. They would fall once he took this body. The country was weak from battling the Nordics; it would help his own country if he could take this one.

“Ah! Alba, nese!” Albion cried out “no” in his Anglo-Saxon tongue, so nervous and afraid. His body felt so strange, warmer… “Bidde! Help!” His pleas for help were unheard. This was Scottish territory. He could get no help here. A sharp bite to his hip made him cry out, to which he received a smart slap.

“Shut up.” Alba frowned, grinding his teeth together. “Always, you’re whining. Just do something right for once.” He smirked. “Don’t worry. It will feel nice. You don’t need to call for help.”

Albion whimpered, covering his eyes with his petite hands. Alba kissed his hair and kissed around his face, trying to calm the little one down. He kissed his ear, licking the shell of it and watching how Albion shivered, his cheeks dusting themselves with pink. He kissed behind the child’s ear, just behind it, and heard the shuddering gasp, pleasured.

“A-Al-ba…” Albion whined. “Wha-?” Alba paid him no mind as he continued to draw out those little moans and whines with kisses. Kisses down his neck, torso.

“Alba! Th-that feels-!” Albion cried out as Alba played with his nipples, teasing the small, hard nubs with his tongue. His penis felt weird. “Alba… My…” He didn’t want to say it, embarrassed and not knowing what was wrong.

“Your dick is hard?”

“My what?” Albion was wondering what a person named Richard had anything to do with- “Ah!”

Alba smirked as he seized the child’s erection and began to pump it. “This, Albion, is your penis, your cock, your dick.” Albion began to buck his hips beneath his brother’s hand, wanting more of- He didn’t know. Alba frowned. He was hard and wasn’t being pleased.

“I want you to do something, Albion.” Alba pulled down his trousers, just enough to reveal his own erection. He gently guided the oblivious child down to it, Albion’s head next to the older nation’s vital regions. “Díul móbhad,” he ordered in his native tongue.

“?” Albion looked up at him.

“Suck my dick.” Alba brought his hand to Albion’s again and held his prick out to the child’s mouth.

Albion frowned. Well… If Alba said to, then it couldn’t be bad. He opened his pert little mouth and laid his lips on the head of the erection, frowning a bit at the taste. However, he heard Alba moan and saw a small smile form on his face. He began to suck on the “dick” a bit, letting his tongue touch it sometimes, but he was avoiding that; it tasted icky.

Alba groaned deeply in his throat. It was his luck to get an adorable child, his baby brother no less, to suck him off. He was a pervert, he would admit it. But not after exploiting that fact to the fullest.

Albion choked as Alba bucked his hips, pulling away and coughing. “Al-ba… That was mean.”

Alba smirked. “Well, you should have been more careful. If you were a bigger country, you would know.”

Albion puffed out his cheeks. “I know enough.” He brought his mouth down again and took enough of the erect organ into his mouth to have his mouth completely full, which wasn’t much. He sucked and licked and was careful, considering he wouldn’t want any teeth on his own penis. Alba moaned, his head back, his red hair starting to stick against his forehead. He threaded his fingers in the child’s hair, feeling the golden locks and massaging the young head. With his other hand, he took the first three fingers into his mouth, sucking on them, lubricating them charitably. Once wet enough, the fingers made their way to Albion’s entrance.

Albion gasped around the dick in his mouth and whimpered when a finger teased his anus. Why would Alba be touching him there? It was dirty. He pulled his mouth off and grit his teeth as a finger made its way inside ofhim. “Al-Alba! Why? Ah!” It was wriggling and wiggling and he didn’t like it.

“Did I tell you to stop?” Alba growled, annoyed. “If I don’t stretch you here, it’ll hurt a lot.” Well, he wasn’t going to make this a merciful fucking, any way, but he couldn’t have the little nation run off.

“Ic besorgie,” Albion apologized. He replaced his mouth on the erection and continued to suck, careful with his teeth and trying to ignore the finger in his-

He lurched forward, attempting to escape the next finger making its way inside of his butt, but that only resulted in him allowing the dick in his mouth to hit the back of his throat, making him cough again, but Alba’s hand on the back of his head didn’t let him move, leaving him with the penis near the back of his throat, coughing and trying to get enough air through his nose, and the sphincter muscles in his ass tightening around those invading fingers almost painfully, trying to expel the probing digits, but to no avail.

Alba continued to moan, but kept his mind focused on thrusting two fingers in and out of Albion, ignoring his little pleas for quarter. He began to slip the third finger inside the tight hole. Damnú air, was the kid tight!

Albion took his mouth off of Alba, pulling his head out of his brother’s hold. “ALBA! NESE! It hurts! I don’t want this!”

Alba, seeing red, pulled the tot to him, chest against chest, and continued to finger fuck the child in his arms. “Look, you wanted this, and you’re going to get it.” He spread his fingers, hearing the little child in his arms cry. Those sounds, however pain-filled, sent the heat down to his nether regions and he realised why Éire did the same to him.

It felt intoxicating.

This feeling of dominance.

Albion thrashing against his skin.

Like Hegemony.

But he could get that later. Roma was dead. That stupid German nation could handle the world for now.

Albion struggled a bit more against his brother’s chest. “I don’t like it, Alba… It hurts…” He sobbed, not really struggling anymore, hoping for any quarter. “Bidde… Bidde… Ætstand…” ‘Please… Please… Stop…’

“Pfft.”

Alba spread his fingers a bit more, feeling that as Albion stopped struggling, it had helped his muscles to relax and Alba could now search for that… one… spot…-

Albion jumped and moaned, feeling a twang for pleasure shoot through him, making his head face upwards towards Alba’s fire-red hair and his toes curl tightly. His fingers attempted to mar Alba’s skin, to inbed themselves deeply into his pleasure object, euphoria giver, and not let go, not until he reached Euphoria.

Alba began to assault that special point in his brother’s ass. If he could stretch him enough-

Wait. Why wait for that?

Albion shivered as those fingers left him with a small sloppy noise. “Alba…” he breathed. He knew that whining would only make Alba yell at him, but that had felt good in a strange way. Something in the back of his mind was just alerting him to be careful. “Alba… This is weird. What are we doing?”

Alba laid the child down again. He leaned down and whispered…

“I wonder… if this will break you.”

Albion began to struggle again. “Alba! Nese!” He couldn’t break the tight grip on his arms and screamed when something invaded his vital regions, something much larger than Alba’s fingers.

Alba moaned in pleasure, pushing his rather large erection into that tight heat. He pushed in a bit faster to get into that tight passageway, and to hear Albion’s screams.

“ALBA! ÆTSTAND!”

‘Éire was right,’ he thought, hearing those beautiful screams. He pushed in all the way and quickly began to pull out and push in and pull out and push in…

Albion stopped. Just stopped moving. He shuddered slightly when a warm liquid filled him up, tears having long since ceased as well.

Alba stood up, pulling up his trousers and beginning to redress himself. “You’re a little harlot, aren’t you, Albion?”

Albion looked up at the other, disinterested until that rhetorical question. “No…”

“Yes, you are.” Alba, tying his cloak, walked over. He knelt down and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him up and ignoring the whines of pain.

“Only a harlot would let someone use their body that way, outside of marriage, outside of a proper relationship.” Alba smiled. “Don’t worry, Albion. I’ll always care for you as a brother. But I saw your whorish ways and I want you to accept yourself as what you are.” He kissed the alabaster cheek, dirty with tears.

Albion closed his eyes, a few more tears falling.

He would not forget this.

He captured the other’s eyes with his own gaze when he opened them again.

“You’ll bow down to me one day, Alba…”

Alba smirked. “Really?”

“And you’ll kiss my feet and see how great I am…”

Alba turned to leave.

“Well, I’ll wait for that day, whore.”

* * *

Scotland knelt down, one knee to the ground. He was in the great hall of the English Castle of Westminster. Wales was in the same position as him, on the opposite wall.

“Presenting the United Kingdom of Great Britain.”

Through the main doors came England, decorated with a strange arrangement on a piece of cloth. Scotland realised that the English, Welsh, and Scottish flag had been sewn together… and it was draped across his youngest brother’s shoulders.

Scotland watched Wales, to whom England had walked up. England lifted his boot-clad foot, which Wales cradled and then kissed, pressing his lips against the leather.

Wales set the foot down and England bent downward to whisper something in his ear. Wales nodded and then turned to Scotland.

England, smugness increasing with every step he took to his older brother, kept a straight face. How ungentlemanly it would be to rub his brother’s face into the ground in public. In private would be more fun.

Scotland glared at the Southern British nation, but held the foot gingerly when it was offered to him. He pressed his lips against it. He didn’t not miss the look of sadistic delight in England’s eyes. Letting go of the boot, Scotland remained still as England bent down.

“Well,” England whispered. “You waited for this day, whore. I hope you’re enjoying it.”

He walked down to the throne and sat upon it. He was the ruler of the entire land of Britain. It was all his.

“I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain. I will allow all the lands under me to keep their titles, but all are British, and are under my hands.” He smiled and dismissed all of the people there.

When he was alone, he smiled a bit wider, chuckling. The chuckling grew louder to laughs and then cackles.

“I WIN ALBA! I’VE BEATEN YOU! YOU ARE MY WHORE NOW!” He laughed.

Laughed.

Laughed.

Laughed.

“Huh…”

England sat still.

“So… Am I the rapist now?”

He pushed this out of his mind and made sure it stayed that way as he travelled to his colonies, attempting to remember to get some sweets for America when he went back to the New World. He should visit the baby soon; it would do no good to not visit his baby brother.

* * *

Arthur shook his head. It would not help him to remember the past, not when so much relied on his capability now.

Alfred shifted in his sleep. Arthur looked down and smiled. That angelic face… That day in the field was enough for him to fall in love with the boy.

That little toddler all alone; truly it was sacrilege to do so, to such a divine looking being. America, or Tibik-kìzis-Achak, as the Algonquin had called him, was such a tiny spirit, with such strength. He had stayed with the Virginia Algonquin for a small period of time, but quickly moved to the Plymouth colony when the Europeans, who had the same colour of skin as him, arrived to the New World.

Then the Puritans didn’t want him, thinking he was a demon because of his longevity. Arthur sighed, stroking his brother’s cheek, flushed with warmth.

How much could this little nation be put through so much and still love him so much?

Alfred blinked his eyes blearily, lifting his body from the sheets. How dear he looked, thought Arthur, that this angel, sweet, innocent, would come down from Heaven to his arms, throw away and rip off his wings of Light, and come join this lost Spirit in the Dark.

"Good morning, love," Arthur says endearingly. He gives Alfred a kiss on the forehead. Alfred coos softly in his throat, loving the other’s lips against his skin. Any bit of skin, any bit that felt Arthur, tingled and sent little shivers through his body, made his blood warmer than normal, and made him wonder why other countries, like Spain, France, and England’s brothers, didn’t like England at all. He pouted slightly. It wasn’t fair. Why was England, who was so nice, smiling, the hated one? It made no sense at all.

"Good morning, Arthur." Alfred kissed Arthur’s chin, which led to Arthur grabbing his chin and pulling him into a kiss. They could stay like this forever. There was never a War, never a battle between the two of them. Everything was perfect, both nations thought, as their bodies merged and their carnal desires helped create and rebuild their love anew, Alfred’s breathy moans, as he rode Arthur, mixing and becoming one with Arthur’s own groans as the older male thrust upwards, not enough to scare his brother, no, but enough to hit a special spot in his warm canyon that made the teenager squeal in euphoric delight. Only they could, would, ever be familiar to this pleasure, so good, it had to be sinful.

As they lay together in the glow, calming their hearts and planning to get water ready for a thorough cleaning, a knock came at the door.

"Who is it?" Arthur asked. He had asked all the employees to abstain from allowing guests to his room.

"Sir Kirkland, a man by the name of Eadan Kirkland is coming at 9:00 this morning."

A quick glance to his open pocket watch told Arthur he had fifteen minutes.

Alfred was having trouble sitting up when Arthur was cleaning him up, the cloth and water bowl from last night finally being used to clean off his seed off of his and Arthur’s stomachs and to clean the seed the was running down his legs from his anus.

"Arthur, what-?"

"My brother is coming, America." Alfred felt adrenaline run through him. The brother that England said hurt him? Why was he coming? Arthur said he could never get across the ocean. What was going on? He tried to shake himself fully from sleepiness as Arthur began to pull his underwear up, followed by trousers and stockings. His shirt, Alfred slapped Arthur away gently, that he was able to do it himself, and that Arthur should get ready, too.

Arthur got dressed and quickly helped Alfred looked presentable, brushing his hair and whatnot. He did the same to himself.

"Arthur, why is he coming?" Alfred said, sitting on the bed again as he kicked his feet back and forth childishly.

"I don’t know." Arthur frowned, getting his handgun and sword ready. He handed a dagger and gun to Alfred, knowing that the child knew how to defend himself with either weapon just in case. "I will find out."

A knock came at the door. “Lord Kirkland, Lord Eadan Kirkland of Scotland is here to see you.”

"Allow him to enter."

A few moments later, the blond brothers sat quietly in the room as the door opened, the latch on the door squeaking slightly.

In came a man, about the age of 27, with fire red hair and green eyes that seemed to burn with their gaze. Alfred held himself still. He could see how Arthur could be dominated by this man before. But England was the ruler of Scotland, right? Arthur beat Eadan and so Arthur was stronger and better now. No one could beat him.

"Well," Eadan said, gazing at the child on the bed. His hair was gold, his eyes a sky blue… He was beautiful. His chin had not gained the sharpness of adulthood and his body was so lithe and feminine… How he wanted to… "Albion, is this America?"

Arthur stared incredulously at his brother, not thinking that Eadan came just to meet his little brother. “Yes. Alfred,” he beckoned, waving his hand to bring Alfred to his side. Alfred snuggled against Arthur, feeling protective now of the Englishman.

Arthur smiled a bit down at the colony. He looked up to Eadan with a steel cold expression. “Eadan, this is America. Alfred, this is the country of Scotland.” He spoke cordially, yet monotonously, as if to say, “Keep it professional, Eadan. You touch him, you die.”

Alfred walked nervously to the older man and then held out his hand. He was surprised when Eadan went down on one knee and kissed his hand.

"I’m honoured to meet my little brother’s beloved colony," Eadan said, green eyes capturing blue. Alfred was shaking a bit. So intimidating and demanding in presence… Is this what England had been afraid of when he was little?

Arthur growled and reached forward, slapping Eadan’s hand away. “Do not act so informally towards Alfred.”

"Why not?" Eadan asked cockily. "He’s my little brother, too. Albeit adopted."

Alfred shivered. He just wanted to be Arthur’s little brother, not Eadan’s. His stomach felt sick.

“ _ **No**_.” Arthur growled, and Alfred felt so much rage behind that one word he wondered how Eadan did not look at all intimidated.

Eadan smirked and then gained composure. “Well, Arthur. I came to tell you that one of your generals – Cornwallis, I believe – has left the colonies.”

What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes that no one has to read:
> 
> 1) Comeu - Ancient name for the county of Cornwall - Supposedly, King Arthur was born there.
> 
> 2) Alfred the Great (Old English: Ælfrēd, Ælfrǣd, “elf counsel”; 848/849 – 26 October 899) was King of Wessex from 871 to 899. Alfred is noted for his defence of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of southern England against the Vikings, becoming the only English monarch still to be accorded the epithet “the Great”. Alfred was the first King of the West Saxons to style himself “King of the Anglo-Saxons”. Details of his life are described in a work by the 10th century Welsh scholar and bishop Asser. Alfred was a learned man who encouraged education and improved his kingdom’s legal system and military structure. He is regarded as a saint by some Catholics, but has never been officially canonized. The Anglican Communion venerates him as a Christian hero, with a feast day of 26 October, and he may often be found depicted in stained glass in Church of England parish churches.
> 
> 3) Damnú air – Scottish Gaelic – Shit / Damn it
> 
> 4) Éire – Irish – Ireland. I’m going to say that Ireland was born around 600 BC according to www. rootsweb. ancestry. com/ ~fianna/history/. Scotland was born around 350 BC, I believe, according to Wikipedia. The Greeks were recording about them at this point. England was born by a mixture of the Britons and the Anglo-Saxons, so he would have been born in the 4th century AD, making him quite a bit younger than his brothers. Wales is mainly Briton so he would have to be at least born in the 200s BC.
> 
> …
> 
> I find it funny that in this story, Alba is a total bastard and in my other story, I love him so much because he is so protective of England. I heart you, Alba! (But not when you’re doing horrible things, like now) In reference to when these countries are born, I think it would rely in the recognition of people. If a country is not recognized, it could not exist, though it could have a corporal vessel in awaiting for that recognition.
> 
> 5) I love mind-fuckery. I also love the idea that most nations are dominating people and hold grudges and hatred for a while. It seems plausible to mé.
> 
> The former kingdom of Great Britain, sometimes described as the ‘United Kingdom of Great Britain’, was a sovereign state in northwest Europe, in existence from 1707 to 1801. It came into being on 1 May 1707, with the political union of the kingdom of Scotland and the kingdom of England (which included Wales). With the 1706 Treaty of Union (ratified by the Acts of Union 1707), it was agreed to create a single, united kingdom, encompassing the whole of the island of Great Britain and its minor outlying islands, excluding Ireland, which remained a separate realm under the newly created British crown. A single parliament and government, based at Westminster, controlled the new kingdom. The former kingdoms had already shared the same monarch since James VI, King of Scots became King of England in 1603 following the death of Queen Elizabeth I, bringing about a “Union of the Crowns”.
> 
> 6) Tibik-kìzis-Achak – Algonquin – Moon Spirit (America’s skin, compared to the Natives, would be similar to the pallor of the moon.)


	5. Not Supposed to Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More WTF-ness, Certain historical figures that everyone was waiting for, Eadan being Eadan (that fucking bastard)

Alfred sat quietly in the seat of the carriage, cuddling into Arthur’s side. He looked across his seat to Eadan. The Scot was gazing at him as though he was going to eat the little colony.

Maybe he would.

Alfred felt so tired. The colony wiggled a bit, his leg brushing Arthur’s. The empire, who was reading one of the colonial newspapers, looked down at his little brother and smiled, wrapping an arm around him to hold the other close and stroke his hair with one hand. The gold strands were so soft and they smelled like wheat, flowers, spices… He laid a kiss on the other’s forehead, knowing that Scotland was watching and so this was the most he could do.

"Arfur," Alfred said cutely, letting Arthur know how tired he was. "How much furfer until we get to Boston?"

Arthur smiled. “Just a bit longer. You can sleep until we get there.” Alfred smiled and snuggled further against him, gently feeling the bumping of the carriage take over his movements and gently rocking him to sleep.

Alfred dreamt away, happily sleeping with the sounds of faerie giggles in his ear and the motions of Arthur’s hand in his hair.

"Is he asleep?"

"Shut up, Eadan." Arthur stared at his older brother. The Scottish bastard would never learn his place. He would always think himself ruler of Great Britain, when always it was England. Powerful England. No longer weak.

"He’s cute, Arthur." Eadan gazed down at the colony, gently reaching over to brush a blonde lock out of his closed eyes. "I can understand why you would fuck him."

England glared at the other, eyes able to burn through bronze and drachmas to make a golden blade. “How dare-!”

"Pshh… You didn’t think that I noticed?" Scotland sighed, pulling out his tobacco pipe. He lit up the drug after stuffing some into the wood instrument. He puffed out a little cloud of smoke. "He was limping around, England. He clung onto you so tightly, and you held your hand around his waist, or below it near his hips. It’s so blatantly obvious." He smirked. "Looks like you are a sick fuck like me."

England smirked as well. “He consented, Eadan. Ever heard of the thing, consent?” He chuckled darkly, missing Scotland’s dark expression. “Of course, you’ll say that that was the old way. Countries were less than civilized back then. Sex was dividing and conquering, making everyone else your whore.” His eyes seemed to burn. No, not from tears. Never again.

He looked out the window of the carriage. Troops marched up and down the streets when they went through a town. Other soldiers were helping out in the fields. Helping the colonists.

No more fear.

No thoughts of treason.

No rape.

Never again.

He hoped.

* * *

In Boston, three weeks later, a general stood, waiting for his chance to board a ship to Canada. Perhaps he would be able to hide more effectively out there.

He never expects his own country to murder him.

"America can ne’er be touched."

Ah, diddums.

* * *

Alfred sat in the main square of Boston. He had a copy of Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_  in his hands. He read aloud.

“ _The beauty of the/ world, the paragon of animals – and yet, to me, what is th_ _is/ quintessence of dust? Man delights not me – no, nor woman/ neither,-_ ”

“ _Though by your smiling you seem to say so._ ”

Alfred looked up and beamed in happiness.

"Mr. Washington!"

The man embraced the teen, holding him dear and close. His little America.

England sat in the room of the hotel, drinking his tea. He sat on the wooden seat of his chair next to the desk that the inn provided and crossed his legs, relaxing. He could see the main square of Boston through the window.

He smiled as he watched Alfred read from one of his books. His adorable little angel.

He cocked his head to the side in confusion as he saw an older gentleman embrace Alfred. However, Alfred didn’t seem to mind at all, so Arthur wasn’t too concerned.

For the moment.

Alfred came into the room running. A smile was obvious on his face as he started babbling.

"I saw Mister Washington, England!"

Arthur chuckled. That would explain the excitement. He held out his arm to his lover, embracing him. Young Alfred hummed happily to himself. When he was released, he gasped.

"Arthur, Mr. Washington wanted to talk to you about something." He frowned a bit.

"Something about the war…" He said the last part quietly. He sat next to Arthur on an adjacent stool, hands in his lap, curled into loose fists.

Arthur simply sipped his tea once and set the cup back on the saucer, setting both back on the desk.

"When is he available?"

"He’s downstairs in the lobby." Alfred kept his gaze down. He was being taken care of and being loved by Arthur; he couldn’t-

"I can tell him that you’re busy-"

"No, Alfred." Arthur stood up, laying a hand on his colony’s head. He gently ruffled his hair and then bent down. He tilted Alfred’s head up, blue eyes gazing at his. Alfred shivered against his as lips met with his, shocks going between them.

Alfred opened his mouth, licking at the Brit’s lips. Arthur opened his mouth as well, touching his tongue to his underling’s. Their tongues attacked one another’s, and America wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders, craving the friction.

Arthur pulled away.

Alfred blinked blearily. “Arfur…”

"We have a guest downstairs, poppet." He kissed his forehead and could vaguely smell his colony’s arousal. He shuddered.

"Come," he said, pulling away and standing up properly.

"Let’s invite your friend to talk."

* * *

George Washington stood from where he sat in the lobby of the hotel as he saw the personifications of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the Autonomous British-American States. He smiled as America came over to hug him. He gently embraced the child, wondering, like earlier, how he became so young. He appeared to be about thirteen years of age. During the conflict, he was about sixteen years old.

Arthur came close as well, silent as he watched his brother interact with the general.

"Mister Washington, here’s my brother." Alfred stood upright and gestured to Arthur, grabbing his brother’s sleeve, pulling him closer.

"Nice to see you again, Sir Kirkland." Washington held out his hand which was clasped firmly by the Englishman’s hand.

"Likewise, General."

* * *

Alfred went outside again, going down to the general store to buy some sweets, sugary and satisfying, to nibble on while George and Arthur spoke. He paid the fifty pence for his treat, sucking on one piece happily while he saved the others for when he would share with his brother and George.

"Oi, Alfred." He turned to see his brother’s brother, Eadan, coming towards him.

Scotland.

“ _Don’t stay alone with him anywhere; do you understand, Alfred?”_

"Hello, Mr. Eadan." Alfred didn’t expect a bold hug from the man, smelling tobacco and meat pies on the other’s long coat.

"What’s with this ‘mister’ talk? You’re my brother, aren’t ya?" Eadan’s eyes twinkled with cunning, something that the colony sensed but could not interpret.

"Well, Eadan, I have to go back to the Inn. Arthur would be angry if I’m not there soon." He needed to leave. He needed to.

"Don’t worry, he told me to take you to where he and that General are having a meeting later." Alfred blinked. Eadan probably regretted his decision from then, yes? Why else would he be so civil towards his younger brother’s colony.

"Okay." He grabbed Eadan’s hand.

* * *

Eadan led the lad to a small pub, a quaint little place on the edge of Boston. Alfred shivered in nervousness. This happened before.

"Come, lad. Have some cider." The Scotsman ordered a mug of apple cider for his "nephew," watching the young boy’s movements. He was wary. Of course, the boy had been raped after being knocked unconscious at a pub. "I’ll have one as well. No rum today."

They sat their rumps on the barstools, waiting as their drinks came. Alfred looked around, anxious. Eadan sighed.

"I know what happened."

America looked up to Scotland.

"What?"

"What the two generals did. I know what happened." He saw Alfred pale, cheeks as white as his pressed shirt.

"I…"

"Don’t, lad. You’ll make yourself feel worse." He patted the young man’s shoulder, smiling as he didn’t flinch away.

Alfred smiled. “Would you like a candy, Eadan? I bought them just today.” The Scotsman nodded, and he thanked the counter-tender as he delivered the ciders.

He smiled even more so as he slipped the powder into Alfred’s mug while the child’s head was down, looking for his candies in his satchel.

* * *

Alfred was on Eadan’s back, the older male carrying him from the pub - “Perhaps you hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since… that day.”

The colony frowned as he was set on the ground, under a tree in a rather wooded area. Where were the buildings of Boston? Where was Arthur?

"Before you say anything, you damn brat," Eadan said, crouching down so that he was eye level with the boy. "Know that you shouldn’t have lost."

Alfred’s eyes grew wide as he felt a pair of lips on his, teasing and moulding to fit against his own. He struggled sluggishly and realised that he had been drugged… again. A wandering hand cradled his face, tilting his head so that his jaw was loose, and a tongue was able to shove its way into his oral cavity, licking at his teeth, his own tongue, thrusting itself by his throat, making him baulk at the sensation.

"Fwa…" Alfred was pushed away, panting. Eadan was straddling his womanly hips.

"You should have killed the bastard, but you just stood like an idiot while he shot you." The colony screamed as teeth came into contact with his throat, breaking the skin and marking the alabaster, blood flowing from the wound. Yet, he arched up towards the pain, something inside of his body finally alive with a strange fire. There was a feeling in his stomach, like the rocks in the wolf that tried to eat Little Red Riding Hood, but the feeling said that he needed Eadan to continue talking, that he should do everything to keep the Scotsman above him talking.

So he grabbed at the other.

"What do you mean?" A kiss came down on his right nipple, leaving him to wonder how Eadan had opened his coat and shirt so quickly. He could feel the cold of the frost covering the grass on his hands and feel it come up to his naked torso.

"Arthur should have lost." Alfred whimpered as a finger began to play with the head of his penis, the phallus hard and red, pre-ejaculate decorating the tip.

"Wait! Only Arthur-!"

Eadan didn’t hold back as he shoved himself inside of Alfred’s body, blood coating his dick and sphincter muscles tightening around him. The child underneath him screamed, but was cut off by the Scot’s lips. He fucked the little mouth with his tongue, intoxicated by that sweet taste that seemed to surround the colony. Eadan moaned. Not even having sex with a woman was quite like this. It was just like when he raped England the first time.

That feeling of domination warmed his soul, making him wonder why on Earth he came to talk to the lad in the first place.

Alfred didn’t come, didn’t orgasm, as Eadan filled him with his seed.

He didn’t struggle as the other cleaned him out, cleaned him up, and dressed him.

He didn’t remember the rape at all, because Eadan did something that Arthur had done.

“ _Nábac agus an aisling glacadh_.”

No wonder Alfred had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, no GeorgexAlfred yet. That’s for later.
> 
> 1) Travel speed was slow back then…
> 
> 2) Hamlet lines: Act 2, Scene 2: Lines 311-4
> 
> 3) Meat pies – Referring to a Scotch pie (yum, meat)
> 
> 4) Nábac agus an aisling glacadh. - Irish Gaelic – Forget and embrace this dream.


End file.
